


Y Si Lloras por Mí

by ruethereal



Category: SHINee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruethereal/pseuds/ruethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHINee matters more than coffee milk and scarves. As it should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Y Si Lloras por Mí

Kim Kibum isn’t a mean person.  He knows that, everyone else knows that.  In fact, Kibum is a very nice person.  He likes to take care of people.  So what if he can be a little strict sometimes?  It’s for the group’s own good really, him wanting things to be a certain way.

But this, he admits, is a bit mean.

“Why do I even put up with you?”

Kim Jonghyun isn’t a mean person.  He knows that, everyone else knows that.  In fact, Jonghyun is a very nice person.  He likes to take care of people.  So what if he can be a little emotional sometimes?  He knows no better place to wear his heart than his sleeve.

So this, he thinks, is a bit much.

“Why are you getting so angry?”

Kibum shakes his fist in Jonghyun’s face.

“Do you see this?  You spilled your stupid coffee milk on the scarf I got from Japan.   _From Japan_ , and you ruined it, you idiot.”

“I—”

“Spill coffee milk all you want, but why on _this_ scarf, huh?”

Jonghyun doesn’t know if he’s feeling angry or hurt or betrayed, but his eyes are burning so much he can’t see Kibum’s livid face or Kibum’s precious-now-ruined scarf _from Japan_.  But maybe he’s angry more than anything else, because he doesn’t start crying. Instead, he rips the scarf from Kibum’s still-raised and threatening hand and whips it onto the floor with as much force as possible before grinding his heel into it.

“How’s that for ruined, you brat.  You think I care about your stupid scarves?”

Kibum stares at the scarf crushed pathetically under Jonghyun’s shoe for two seconds, but when he looks at the older boy once more, all he does is snort with as much disdain as possible.

“You’re such a brute, Jjong- _hyung_.”

Jonghyun’s fingers twist in Kibum’s collar before he can think any better of it.

“I’ll show you brute, _Kim Kibum_.”

“Hey!  What the—”

Minho tugs him away from Kibum, but Jonghyun automatically shrugs off the taller boy’s hands.  And out of pure spite, Kibum laughs.

“What did I say?  A brute.”

To prevent any further attempts at violence against Kibum’s person, Minho wedges himself between the two as Jinki and Taemin approach the front door of the dorm.  The bandleader looks at the stiffly standing trio, Kibum still laughing mirthlessly.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing.  Jjong was just—”

“This idiot dragged me out here to word-fight about his stupid scarf.”

“Who are you calling—”

“I’m calling _you_ an idiot for caring more about a _stupid_ scarf than me, you idiot, Kim Ki—”

“Stop it, hyung.”

Taemin’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp, and Jonghyun’s rage somewhat wilts.  But now that he’s been caught behaving so poorly, his eyes are once again stinging with tears.

“An idiot, a brute, _and_ a baby, huh?” Kibum sneers.  “So talented, our Jonghyun.”

“Key!”

This time it’s Jinki who intervenes, and Kibum immediately backs down.  But not without a last withering glare directed at Jonghyun before sidestepping Minho and entering the dorm.

“You can throw that away.  It was rubbish as soon as Jjong touched it.”

 

Jonghyun spends the next few days sulking over his tiff with Kibum.  Though the other boys are tense around the vocalist, they politely and carefully avoid any further confrontations.  That is, the other boys except Kibum, who acts as if nothing happened between him and his best friend at all.  The almighty one’s nonchalance only makes Jonghyun moodier and leaves the other three desperate and helpless.

“It wasn’t the first time I called him an idiot,” Kibum laughs as he and Taemin take their turn doing the dishes one night.  “And he thinks _I’m_ a brat?  Look at him making a fuss.  It’s been a week already.”

“Maybe if you apologized,” Taemin supplies delicately.

Kibum’s nose twitches with his distaste, but he simply bumps his shoulder against the maknae’s, saying, “Promise umma you won’t grow up to be such a baby, okay?”

Giving it up as a lost cause, Taemin just makes a noncommittal noise.

“What?” Kibum sighs.  “I don’t owe him anything.”

“That shouldn’t matter if you two are best friends.”

Both Kibum and Taemin turn at the newcomer’s voice, finding Jinki leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest and looking unusually pensive.

“Not you too, Jinki-hyung,” Kibum chuckles easily, resuming his pot rinsing.

“Yes, me too.  You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

Both Jinki and Taemin jump at the clattering of dishes and utensils when Kibum suddenly drops the rice pot into the sink with a frustrated noise.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Kibum says firmly, facing the other two.  “Maybe I spoil Jjong a little, but he needs to grow up.   _He’s_ supposed to be _my_ hyung, not the other way around.”

Neither Jinki nor Taemin make an effort to stop him when Kibum walks away, hands still dripping and leaving a trail along the hall.  But wrenching open the bathroom door reveals an exiting Jonghyun, whose mouth drops open for the briefest second before he snaps his jaws shut audibly.

“ _Well_ ,” Kibum says, rolling his eyes and backing away slightly.  “If you’re done, don’t let me keep you.”

Jonghyun’s hands unwittingly curl into fists, but he remains silent, taking little care when brushing past the younger boy so their shoulders collide and Kibum stumbles farther backward.

“What the—”

“Oh, _sorry_ , I’m such a stupid animal, after all.”

Kibum sneers in answer, and Jonghyun’s forced aggression is reduced to a grimace as he wearily searches his friend’s eyes.

“Kibum—”

But the younger boy only spares Jonghyun a droned, “I really don’t care,” before shutting the bathroom door in Jonghyun’s face.

 

The following week is marked with changes in both boys’ attitudes: for the worse.  Jonghyun’s brooding crumbles into a defeated sort of numbness, the normally spirited vocalist deaf and blind to interaction with any of the members that isn’t absolutely necessary.  On the other hand, Kibum’s indifference escalates to volatile restlessness that makes him liable to snap at the band members for the tiniest of indiscretions but to blatantly ignore Jonghyun.

“You two are being intolerable,” Minho mutters one morning, capitalizing on the fact that Kibum is busy brushing his teeth and so less likely to start grumbling, what with the risk of getting the vanity or mirror dirty.  “Can’t you at least admit that you were being a bit mean?”

This earns Minho a foamy toothbrush head waved in his face and a knowing glare.  As merciful as it is expected, Kibum remains silent.

“Key-hyung, you have more scarves than you need,” the taller boy continues.  “And if you cared so much about that one, you wouldn’t have thrown it away.”

Kibum spits rather crudely and replaces the toothbrush with a far more menacing finger.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“If you cared so much about Jjong-hyung,” Minho overrides him, “you wouldn’t be throwing him away with that scarf.”

Kibum lowers his hand but refuses to concede anything.

“Jjong didn’t apologize, so why should I?”

Minho’s eyes narrow dangerously, and he stares down at Kibum for a moment before shaking his head, muttering, “You’re being selfish.”

Though Kibum’s mouth opens, obviously to argue, Minho has none of it and walks away.  Kibum shouts at the empty doorway anyway.

“I don’t see any of you lecturing _him_ on how _he’s_ acting.”

 

Nearly a month in and Jonghyun has regained some of his usual sparkle, though at the apparent cost of resigning himself to the loss of Kibum’s friendship.  Not that it’s been easy.  Jinki shows an exceptional amount of leadership by orchestrating the happenings in the dorm, making sure Jonghyun is kept active and social but without the looming presence of Kibum, who’s kept tamed and busy by Minho elsewhere.  More commendable still is Taemin, the maknae (seemingly) effortlessly bouncing between the now-estranged friends and even managing to comfort the constantly laboring Jinki and Minho.

Schedules and being in public, though, are another matter entirely.  Despite the members’ individual and collective reassurances that nothing is wrong in the group, their manager’s hourly interrogations confirm exactly how conspicuous the rift is between Jonghyun and Kibum.  And though none of the members has ever much cared for what’s tossed around by the netizens, fans or otherwise, the stark loss of the boys’ once-inseparability has long reached fever pitch.

Of course, Jonghyun and Kibum are professionals, behaving civilly enough to pass as “friendly enough,” and the other three boys deftly gloss over any potentially catastrophic silences and (hopefully) naturally compensate for lapses in “civil enough.”  But the end of each appearance leaves Jonghyun sullen, Kibum edgy, and the rest exhausted.

“This is getting stupider by the day,” Kibum overhears Minho muttering to Taemin, the youngest two washing dishes.

“Nothing’s gotten worse, at least.”

Minho, unlike himself, curses under his breath before saying, “If nothing gets _better_ , it’s not just Jjong-hyung or Key-hyung who’ll get in trouble.  It’s all of us together.  Shinee matters more to me than coffee milk and a scarf, like it should for everyone else.”

Kibum distinctly hears a swallowed sob and hushed apology from the maknae.  Steeling himself, he clears his throat.  The other two, visibly startled, crick their necks at the sound.

“ _Hyung_ —”

“I’ll do it.”

Kibum watches as they exchange mutually confused looks.

“You’re right,” he says.  “This is stupid, so I’ll do it.  I’m going to apologize to Jjong.”

Minho stares at him warily, but Taemin is relieved beyond words.  Almost anyway.

“Hyung, that’s great—!”

“Why now?” Minho cuts icily.

Kibum holds his gaze, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated by the taller boy.  But maybe he’s more intimidated than he’d like to be, because he looks away uncomfortably.  Eventually anyway.  But when he does, Minho’s ready.

“It’s been a month,” he spits.  “We’ve talked to Jjong-hyung, and we’ve _tried_ talking to you.  He’s been apologetic since the beginning, but you’ve been so stupid and selfish none of us have let him talk to you.  He doesn’t deserve to get yelled at again for no reason.  You think you don’t owe him anything?  You owe him more than you can give.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

Taemin looks between them and hisses, “We don’t need you two arguing, too.”

“I _told_ you,” Kibum says, eyes now set on the maknae, “none of you know what you’re talking about—”

“Then what is it?”

“I—” Kibum starts, but finding that words are failing him at such an inopportune moment, only gives a frustrated cry.

“Well, what?” Minho presses.

“It doesn’t concern you,” Kibum (almost) whines.  “I just—Where is he anyway?”

“Not before—”

“In Jinki-hyung’s room,” Taemin says exasperatedly.

Minho throws the younger boy a sidelong glare, but Kibum just grins gratefully (that is, guiltily).

“Thanks… Minnie.”

 

Though Kibum knows he’s walking only the short distance to Jinki’s bedroom, he tells himself it should feel like he’s walking into a bright light that promises a renewed friendship with Jonghyun, but it feels more like he’s walking to his doom.  Kim Kibum isn’t a mean person, and he never meant to let things get this far.  But really, Kim Jonghyun, that very nice person, should’ve caved ages ago.

He knocks with confidence that isn’t his.  There’s no answer, and he finds out why when he lets himself in: Jinki and Jonghyun are both lying on the floor, backs to the door and watching American music videos on one of their laptops at a ridiculous volume.  Kibum doesn’t bother clearing his throat, just walks up to Jonghyun and nudges the boy’s calf with his toe.

Jonghyun peers up at him, smiling crookedly.  Well, until he realizes who it is, and Kibum feels his organs freeze as he sees the vocalist’s lips slip into a thin line.

“Kibum?”

It’s Jinki, but Kibum only spares the bandleader a half-glance before looking at Jonghyun once more, eyes pleading.

“Can I talk to you?”

Both older boys tense, but Kibum sighs inwardly when Jonghyun nods then stands with his own, audible sigh.

“All right.  Where?”

In answer, Kibum wraps his fingers around Jonghyun’s wrist, pressing his thumb into the middle of Jonghyun’s palm.  Their silent code for when either of them wants to talk in Jonghyun’s bedroom.  A code they haven’t used in a month.  Jonghyun remembers, Kibum’s sure, but instead of sharing a private smile like they should, Jonghyun’s eyes dart from Kibum’s hand and back to Kibum’s face, eyebrows knitted ever so slightly.

“Okay.”

So Jonghyun says, but he shakes free of Kibum’s loose hold before heading to the door of Jinki’s room.  He doesn’t wait, but Kibum’s glad that at least Jonghyun goes in the agreed upon direction.  Kibum gives Jinki one long, last look, the bandleader sitting cross-legged and staring up at him.  But Kibum’s glad that at least Jinki is smiling gently.  He returns the smile as best he can then follows Jonghyun.

This walk, too, is terrifying when it should be promising, but Kibum tells himself it’s for his own good.  Even when he finds Jonghyun standing just inside the room, the hand of one arm gripping the bicep of the other in a foreign, guarded stance.

“So, what is it?”

Kibum shuts the door and leans against it, feeling his breath go shallow and his knees go weak.

“I…”

Kibum tells himself he’s a very nice person, even though he—

“—wanted to make you cry.”

Jonghyun’s head snaps up, having busied himself with staring at his own ankle.

“You what?”

Feeling more helpless and hopeless and, for Christ’s sake, _stupid_ , Kibum throws his hands up in the only gesture that expresses his frustration, before muddling through an explanation:

“I’ve always thought that you’re the cutest when you cry and I realized that it would be perfect for me to make you cry since I’m also the one who’s the best at making you feel better so if I hurt your feelings I’d be able to see that face and be able to make it up to you at the same time.”

Jonghyun’s eyes go as glassy as his jaw goes slack.  The silence stretches and, as much as Kibum wants to look away from the other boy’s face, he finds he can’t until he gets some kind of response.  And in spite of what he just said, Kibum feels as if he’s the one about to cry, his eyes becoming increasingly hot and blurry the longer he stares at Jonghyun.

Then.  Finally.  Kibum watches as Jonghyun raises an arm to burrow his face in the crook of his elbow, watches as Jonghyun’s whole body quakes violently.

“You—Kim Kibum—You’re so—”

Jonghyun’s voice is thick and muffled, but he resolutely shields his face.  Kibum, though, swipes roughly at his own eyes with the back of one of his hands, determined to give Jonghyun the attention he deserves (that is, to see Jonghyun’s pretty crying face).

Then, finally, Jonghyun whips his arm away, and Kibum feels a sob catch in his throat.

“You’re so stupid and—mean and selfish—and—and _so stupid_ —Kibummie!  What kind of person— _wants_ to—make their friend cry, you— _you idiot!_  I hate—I _hate_ you!”

Jonghyun’s brow is wrinkled, his eyes squeezed shut, his eyelashes sodden and clumped together, his cheeks glistening, his nose runny, his bottom lip imprinted with teeth marks, his hands balled at his sides.  And looking at Jonghyun like this, even through his own tears, Kibum thinks Jonghyun is adorable.

Kibum pushes himself off the door and takes the few uneasy steps to close the too wide gap between him and Jonghyun.  His arms are leaden and weak, but Kibum manages to wrap them around the older boy’s shoulders, and he almost laughs when he feels Jonghyun’s arms instantly wrap around his waist, feels Jonghyun’s hands fist in his t-shirt, feels Jonghyun’s face bury into his neck—and he doesn’t even care if it’s getting soaked with tears or snot or drool.

“You don’t hate me, Jjong-ah,” he murmurs, voice wavering with the tiniest inkling of doubt.  “Do you?”

“Of course, I do.”

So Jonghyun says, but he shakes his head once, twice, three times, laughing wetly.

They stay like that for some time, hugging each other fiercely, crying and laughing so freely the outbursts become impossible to tell apart.  Eventually, finally, Jonghyun arches back as far as Kibum allows and blinks at him, eyes red and lashes heavy and face swollen.

“Do you really—think I’m—I’m cute when I cry?”

Kibum kisses the corner of one of Jonghyun’s eyes, salty-sweet tears filling the seam of his lips, and he nods once, twice, three times.

“Of course, I do.”

Without preamble, he wriggles out of Jonghyun’s embrace, the older boy about to protest until Kibum brackets his face with both hands. Kibum rests his thumbs on Jonghyun’s eyelids and closes them on the pretense of wiping away any lingering tears.  Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to Jonghyun’s.  He feels Jonghyun’s eyelids twitch, feels more than hears Jonghyun gasp, but Kibum just draws Jonghyun’s bottom lip between his own, flicks the tip of his tongue at the back of Jonghyun’s teeth.

Jonghyun’s lips are salty with dried tears, but Kibum smiles: Jonghyun’s mouth, some way or another, tastes like coffee milk.

But then it’s Kibum’s turn to gasp when Jonghyun cards his fingers through his hair, when Jonghyun licks teasingly into his mouth, and Kibum feels his own eyelids flutter shut when Jonghyun straightens up and slots their legs together, when Jonghyun angles his face and urges his jaws wider.

Except this was never part of Kibum’s plan, apologizing to Jonghyun.  All he wanted to do was be friends again and, if the stars aligned in his favor, to see Jonghyun’s crying face.  Now that he’s had the (sick) pleasure of seeing Jonghyun in all his teary-eyed glory, Kibum doesn’t know if this—kissing Jonghyun, Jonghyun kissing him—is what he really wants.

That is, until Jonghyun’s fingers tighten in his hair for the briefest second before pulling away and Kibum’s eyes fly open only to meet the older boy’s: still watery, still red, but now wide and expectant and—Kibum’s stomach turns over—smug.  Kibum doesn’t even remember moving his hands from Jonghyun’s cheeks to Jonghyun’s neck, but when he drops his hands and takes a step back, he realizes he’s panting and trembling and—his stomach turns over once more—hard in his jeans.

“You—Kim Jonghyun—What was _that_?”

Jonghyun’s smirk slips into a frown.

“I must not be very good at kissing if you need to ask me,” he mumbles, more to himself than in answer to Kibum’s question.

Kibum shifts his weight from one foot to the other, forcing himself to look anywhere but at Jonghyun but finds he keeps glancing at the other boy’s mouth, pink and pouty and—Kibum (almost) shivers because, yes, he wants to kiss Jonghyun.

So he does.  But not before breathing out one last chuckled, “Idiot,” watching Jonghyun open his mouth to make one last (probably) stupid argument.

“And, Jjong-ah,” Kibum laughs, the taste of coffee milk and something he would name is simply _Jonghyun_ still on his tongue, “you’re a very nice, very good kisser.”


End file.
